Thursday, December 1, 2011

poem




Milestone Meditation

If it turns out, as some say, to be
a one way trip in

a straight line (admit it, sometimes yours
meanders off course

due to head winds and your enchanted
broken compass) the

half-way station looms into view, drinks
and light snacks on hand,

truck parking in rear. There are those (and
I might be one of

them) who think it could be circular,
a mad playground ride,

its diamond studded deck carpeted
with the fear-flattened,

though a few holy fools hold on tight,
heads thrown back, daring

gathered bully gods to throw them off.
If it turns out the

latter is true (unknowable, take
it on faith!) there is

no halfway point, apex, watershed,
bell buoy, Great Divide

sending you rushing headlong toward your
reward for sticking

(mostly) to the straight and narrow way.
You laugh now, head thrown

back while the gods and I watch, dizzy,
charmed, amazed (fools we

are) at each new orbit, you with your
daring, cheeky oaths.


November 17, 2011

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